Unspoken
by Imadra Blue
Summary: On the trip back to Naboo, Qui-Gon reflects on the source of the trouble between himself and Obi-Wan. Slash.


**Pairing:** Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan  
**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and all its characters are property of Lucasfilm Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.  
**Notes:** Written for Padawanewan and Tickles Ivory. Deepest thanks to Neotoma for her beta reading.

. . .

Qui-Gon Jinn sat down on a cold, hard bench in the main area of the Nubian ship. The sterile surroundings made the cold even worse. The ship reflected the Naboo culture so well that it was uncanny. They'd scrubbed their society clean of anything they considered a blemish, to the point that they had become weak and defenseless. The desire to be so pure gave them a predilection for things that were smooth and blank. Even their queen's face was as inscrutable as the mirror-like reflection of her ship's surface. Not that it prevented him from seeing Padmé's face underneath all that paint. He knew she would emerge in her false handmaiden's clothing before they reached Naboo again. She only had Anakin fooled; even Obi-Wan, who'd barely dealt with her, could sense there was something amiss in the power dynamics.

Qui-Gon sighed and leaned back against the wall. He took in his surroundings. The room was empty but for one small person who no doubt chose to sleep out here rather than share a bunk with Obi-Wan, who'd spoken so harshly of him before they'd left Coruscant. Anakin was curled up in the corner, underneath an orange and red blanket. He slept peacefully, and Qui-Gon wished he could do the same. Sleep eluded him for many reasons. Unless he was mistaken, he'd crossed blades with a Sith Lord right before leaving Tatooine—the first Jedi to do so in over a thousand years. Now, the Jedi Council wanted Qui-Gon to find this mysterious, red lightsaber-wielding warrior and bring him back to the Council.

Qui-Gon did not believe that it would be so easy.

It was not the impending battle with a Sith Lord that troubled Qui-Gon this night—if he could indeed call it night, since he traveled through hyperspace, where the rules of time and space reversed. No, it was Obi-Wan that troubled Qui-Gon.

The trouble with Obi-Wan had not begun with Anakin. Obi-Wan had strong feelings about the boy, feelings that had some basis. Obi-Wan was quick to side with the Council, but there was no surprise there. Obi-Wan was not like Qui-Gon; he did not like taking risks. What Obi-Wan failed to understand was that Qui-Gon only took risks when he had to. For Anakin, he had to. The boy was important. Qui-Gon could feel it.

The Council's short-sightedness did not perturb Qui-Gon as much as Obi-Wan's refusal to accept his beliefs. All Obi-Wan saw was uncertainty. Anakin's fear for his future mirrored Obi-Wan's own fears. What Obi-Wan feared, Qui-Gon could easily surmise. Obi-Wan's fears were contradictory; he feared both the separation from Qui-Gon and the permanence of attachment to Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon shared those same concerns, but he would not let them interfere with the will of the Force.

Qui-Gon adjusted Anakin's blanket, then stood up. He moved over to the computer terminal just as the door slid open. Padmé stepped through it, wearing the hooded orange robe of a handmaiden, not the ornate gown of a queen. Qui-Gon smiled down at her. "Good evening young handmaiden," he said, accentuating the position she presented herself in.

Padmé, as always, was bound by her own deception. She either was not aware that Qui-Gon knew of her true identity, or she chose to not respond to the jibe. She merely dipped her head. "Master Jedi. You're up late. Did you not find the quarters we cleared for you and your apprentice acceptable?"

"No, they were quite comfortable. Obi-Wan especially appreciates the privacy, I'm sure. I'm just having a bit of trouble sleeping."

Padmé glanced over at Anakin and smiled a little. "As am I." She glanced back up at Qui-Gon. "You and Obi-Wan are fighting?"

Despite her youth, Padmé was a perceptive young woman. Though she had been elected as the Queen of Naboo, Qui-Gon had serious reservations about her being the wisest of all the Naboo—and what that said about the rest of the Naboo. However, he appreciated her clear-eyed observations of the world around her. "It's a simple disagreement. Training Anakin presents a conundrum to the Jedi, as I'm sure Anakin has told you."

"But it's not about Anakin. The tension between you precedes Tatooine—and my first meeting with you, I'd wager."

Qui-Gon smiled. She was amazingly perceptive; perhaps he'd been hasty to marginalize her election. "You should have been a Jedi," he said.

"Observations of human behavior and emotion are not limited to those who have powers in the Force. I failed the Jedi's tests as an infant." Padmé shrugged. "And you're changing the subject."

"Obi-Wan is soon to become a Jedi Knight. Though the Council may disagree with me about Anakin, they cannot ignore my recommendation for his promotion."

"Is it really all that simple?"

Qui-Gon only smiled in answer.

Padmé dipped her head. "I see." She glanced at Anakin again. "I thought he was going to bunk with you?"

"He was, but… he and Obi-Wan don't seem to like each other. They'll recover from that soon, I'm sure. Just some initial boyish unpleasantness."

"But Obi-Wan's not a boy," Padmé pointed out. "He's a full grown man."

Qui-Gon licked his lips. "Yes. I'm aware of that." All too aware of that.

"Anakin should sleep in a bed. It's cold out here, and he doesn't like being cold."

"Your point is well-taken. I'll return him to our cabin." Qui-Gon seized upon the chance to be out from this strangely perceptive girl's gaze and turned around. He gently picked up Anakin, who barely stirred as he was lifted into Qui-Gon's arms.

Qui-Gon glanced back at the computer terminal. Padmé still stood by it, watching him and Anakin with a look far too mature for her age. He bowed as much as he was able with a child in his arms. "Good evening, young handmaiden."

"And to you, Master Jedi."

The walk down the polished hallway to his cabin was longer than it should have been. Even as the door slid open for Qui-Gon, he dreaded stepping inside. He didn't look at Obi-Wan's bunk as he rested Anakin in his own. Anakin settled in amongst the pillows—Padmé had given them far too many—and mumbled something incoherent. He wouldn't let go of the blanket, so Qui-Gon pulled a second one over Anakin. Qui-Gon sat down beside the boy and stared down at the floor.

All Qui-Gon had to do was raise his gaze a few feet, and he would see Obi-Wan lying in his bunk, possibly asleep. It was a simple task, natural even, but his eyes felt heavy, his body weak. It was very hard to look at Obi-Wan lately—everything was so different now. Obi-Wan was full of questions, arguments, and dangerous invitations.

Qui-Gon finally raised his eyes to where Obi-Wan lay. The youth was not asleep. He lay perfectly still, but for the blink of his blue-gray eyes, stormy in the dim light of their cabin. Obi-Wan's frustration was still visible, held there in the firm lines of his young body underneath his blankets, yet there was still something else in his gaze. Something that had been there for several years now. It was an invitation, an unspoken plea. And it was the source of all the trouble between them.

Qui-Gon lowered his gaze and turned back to Anakin. Anakin was simple. He only desired to be a Jedi, nothing more. Anakin came with a great destiny, and despite his hard life, he came with far less baggage than young Obi-Wan Kenobi. He did not ask for things that Qui-Gon did not want to give him.

Not that Obi-Wan had ever asked.

Not that he had to.

There was a rustle of cloth, and Qui-Gon heard footsteps on the floor. He glanced up from Anakin's sleeping form and saw Obi-Wan walk to the small 'fresher adjoined to their cabin. Starlight splashed over his athletic form as he crossed in front of the window. He glanced back at Qui-Gon, and the heated look in his eyes made Qui-Gon's fingers tremble. Obi-Wan disappeared inside the 'fresher after a moment, leaving his silent invitation behind, along with the faint scent of his cologne.

Qui-Gon stood up despite himself, walking towards the 'fresher. His palms were sweaty, and he felt far too warm. He knew he had to end this, one way or the other, and pave a way for them to truly reconcile. He put a hand out, and the 'fresher door slid open. Obi-Wan sat on the edge of the sink, staring at the floor. He looked up, almost as if to dare Qui-Gon to cross the threshold.

A Jedi Knight was allowed to train his apprentice as he saw fit. There were no real rules. For a compatible Master and apprentice, it was nearly expected that the Master would instruct his apprentice in sexuality. Jedi did not speak of it, not aloud, but Qui-Gon knew there were many Masters who'd taken their apprentices into their beds. Even Masters who sat upon the Council—Mace Windu for instance. Depa Billaba, Mace's apprentice, had given birth to a small, dark-skinned young boy eight years ago, who even now trained in the crèches. She'd never named the father. She'd never had to.

The Council's unspoken permission aside, Qui-Gon had always found the practice of Masters and apprentices sleeping with each other distasteful. Apprentices were given to them as children, and in many ways, they always remained children in Qui-Gon's eyes. He'd always felt his apprentices were like his own sons. He'd trained three Padawans in his lifetime, but he'd only ever violated his principles with one of them.

Obi-Wan gripped the front of Qui-Gon's robes and drew him closer. There was no hesitance in his eyes, only heat. A heat that looked obscene on the face of someone Qui-Gon had known since he was a small boy—but Obi-Wan was no boy, not any longer. Strong muscles rippled along his bare arms, and the nip of his teeth on Qui-Gon's bearded chin was decidedly un-childlike.

Qui-Gon gripped Obi-Wan's biceps, trying to summon the will to push him away. He'd only slept with Obi-Wan once before, in an ill-advised moment of weakness on their last mission. An interrupted moment with a comely delegate had left him in a lustful state when he'd returned to the quarters he'd shared with Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan, who always looked at him with those damnable eyes, who always flashed that strangely white skin of his while he slept. Qui-Gon had not meant to get so close to Obi-Wan, to run his fingers over the youth's bare back, but he had been unable to restrain the desire. Qui-Gon had been drunk on the moment and had forgotten himself. Perhaps he was no better than any other Master.

They'd not spoken of the moment, but it was there between them, burning in Obi-Wan's eyes every time he silently invited Qui-Gon to touch him again. He didn't seem to understand… did he not see Qui-Gon as his father? Or did he simply not care? Either option troubled Qui-Gon. He loved Obi-Wan as a son, and he wanted Obi-Wan to love him as a father, not as a man.

Obi-Wan nipped at Qui-Gon's chin again, his hands sliding into Qui-Gon's tunic, reminding Qui-Gon of the present, of his weakness. Qui-Gon shuddered, guilt tainting the feel of Obi-Wan's cool fingers against his heated skin. It was hard to breathe as the palm of Obi-Wan's hand pressed against Qui-Gon's crotch. Qui-Gon was torn between the desire to fling Obi-Wan to the side and to tear Obi-Wan's clothing off.

Everything in their 'fresher was so small and tight—the two of them barely fit inside. Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon even closer than necessary, his wide lips curving upwards. A flash of heat surged in Qui-Gon's belly and shot up his spine. Revulsion followed suit, twisting his gut into knots.

An image of Obi-Wan at age eight, bent over a small flower in the Jedi Temple's gardens, filled Qui-Gon's mind. He could still see that small boy in the lines of Obi-Wan's face, the innocence glittering in his eyes, somewhere behind his lust. Summoning the calm of the Force, Qui-Gon finally pushed away from Obi-Wan and trapped Obi-Wan's hands inside his own. He shook his head. "No."

Obi-Wan's brow furrowed. "You did it before."

"That doesn't make it right."

"The Council—"

"And when have I ever cared what the Council thought?"

Obi-Wan turned his face and wrested his hands free from Qui-Gon's grip. "I'm not a little boy."

Qui-Gon stared at the mirror. He ignored his reflection, instead thinking of Padmé. She could adopt any persona she wished and hide her true feelings behind a painted mask. She could remain pure, no matter what she did. He wished he could do the same. He envied her that freedom, to relinquish one's own identity—and with it one's weaknesses and twisted desires.

"No, you're not a little boy," Qui-Gon said. "But that does not stop me from thinking of you as one on occasion. No father spent more time with their own son." He backed away towards the door.

"Why did you even bother following me, then?" There was accusation in Obi-Wan's voice, though he refused to show Qui-Gon his face.

Qui-Gon hung his head. "Even the most stubborn of men have their weaknesses." He stepped out of the 'fresher, and he did not breathe again until the door closed behind him. He closed and opened his eyes, willing his desire away, releasing it into the Force. He sat down again beside Anakin, knowing the boy was his only protection from making a second mistake with Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon spent the night meditating with the thrum of the Force surrounding him like a protective wall from his own vice. Obi-Wan did not trouble him again, and by morning, the unspoken invitation was withdrawn from his eyes.

Qui-Gon only hoped Obi-Wan would eventually forgive him. Whether he needed forgiveness for his previous indiscretion or for having rejected Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon did not know.

_End._


End file.
